


Untitled HTP femtrash

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashed Bucky, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, F/M, Female Bucky Barnes, Female Steve Rogers, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Steve Rogers, Multi, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rape doesn't count—Stevie's still a virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled HTP femtrash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the anon who prompted this trash](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+anon+who+prompted+this+trash).



> This was a mini-fill for a trashmeme prompt: _Give me Fem!Steve getting Hydra trash treatment from Fem!Bucky after being captured by Hydra._ Absolutely no redeeming value.

— _It doesn’t count_ —

The metal bar holds her legs spread wide, and the men are holding it pulled above her, bending her almost double and exposing… everything, every private part of her.  They’re laughing, laughing and the sound is heavy, dirty, suffocating, filling every ounce of air in the close, dingy room.  Stevie can barely breathe.

— _It doesn’t count_ —

If it was anything else, if it was _anyone_ else, maybe Stevie could block it out—could handle it, could cope. 

But:  it’s _Bucky_. 

It’s Bucky— _her Bucky_ —kneeling between Stevie’s obscenely spread thighs.  It’s Bucky’s dull, flat eyes on her face.  It’s Bucky’s cold metal fingers touching her, stroking her, rubbing her in secret places Stevie’s never shared with anyone.

Bucky is as naked as she is—the two of them naked and vulnerable and glaringly _female_ in a room filled with fully-dressed, armored, armed men.  Bucky’s dark nipples are puckered, sticking out of her small breasts, tight with the coldness of space around them.

Stevie squeezes her eyes shut, bites back the next whimper—of agony, of awful, unwanted pleasure—that threatens to escape her throat. 

Bucky is still stroking her clit.  Her metal fingers are unrelenting, unyielding, remorseless and steady in their rhythm against Stevie’s delicate, sensitive flesh.

— _It’s not sex if you don’t consent_ —

 _Lick the bitch_ , the men tell her, and Bucky bends down, lowers her face and— _oh God_ —Stevie feels her wet, hot tongue.  It’s on her, against her, almost inside her and Stevie twists, writhes, bucks.  Horror rushes through her, lurching and raw.  _Please_ , she thinks, _please_.

 _Fuck the bitch_ , the men tell her, and Stevie feels the cold metal fingers slide down an inch, start to—probe.  Stevie’s body clenches, reflexive, defensive.  Her thighs strain to pull together, to close—but they’re held fixedly immobile, spread.

The laughter around the room picks up volume, vehemence.

 _Don’t,_ Stevie wants to whisper, to scream; _don’t_ , she wants to beg—but she doesn’t.  She presses her face into her bicep, holds her breath.  She bites back the nausea, the bile, the gasp.  There’s a moment of stillness, of awful, agonizing anticipation, then—

— _It doesn’t count, you’re still a virgin_ —

The cold, hard, unnatural fingers push into her—coldly, bluntly, rudely—and it hurts _(oh God it hurts)_ more than she thought it would, more than she’d imagined.  The pain goes on and on, burning and invasive and relentless and _wrong_.

There would be tearing, Stevie knew, flesh would give way and there would be bleeding—but something’s wrong, it shouldn’t be this _lasting_ , this tight and painful and unremitting.

— _It doesn’t count, it’s rape_ —

Bucky had always laughed at her for waiting.  _Stevie, believe me, nothing in this goddamn world comes close to the feel of a man between your thighs._ Her eyes wicked and her face shining with pleasure—and even more so when Stevie’s skin burned with embarrassment (with bashful pride) at her best friend’s audacity, her irrepressible sass.

Bucky never cared, never minded, never gave a shit about anything as pedestrian as reputation.  Bucky was never a _good girl_ ; she never did anything other than what she wanted.  She grabbed life with both hands and squeezed every bit of pleasure she could out of living.  She laughed and smirked and winked and Stevie could bask, could live off the unabashed joy shining from Bucky’s— _her_ Bucky’s—irrepressible face.

Bucky’s face is blank now.  Her eyes are dead. 

The men tell her to spread her knees, and she does.  They tell her to arch her back, show them her cunt, and she does.  They tell her to keep her eyes on Stevie’s face, and she does.

One of them shoves himself into her—Bucky’s whole body jerks with the violence of the entry—but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shudder, doesn’t blink.  She keeps her unseeing eyes on Stevie’s face and her tongue never stops licking, her metal fingers never stop thrusting.  Her rhythm never falters.

— _Rape doesn’t count, you’re still a virgin_ —

They tell Bucky to give it to her both ways and Stevie doesn’t understand—she can’t process the meaning of it past the pain, the shame, the horror—until she feels Bucky’s other hand.  Until she feels Bucky’s flesh fingers brushing her again—lower, below.

Stevie can’t hold back the next whine, low and miserable and animal-scared, as Bucky’s finger pushes into her—in another place, an awful place.  That other entry into her body than can—shockingly, appallingly—accommodate penetration.  _God oh god please let this be a nightmare._

They tell Bucky to give it to her like a pro—like she can take it—and Stevie feels more fingers pressing into her.  She can’t even tell where anymore; it’s all a burning, cleaving, merging agony at her core.

— _It doesn’t count, it doesn’t count_ —

The knuckles slide in, and Bucky’s whole fist is inside her now.  It jerks inside Stevie in time with the harsh, animal thrusts that are wracking Bucky’s body. 

Bucky still doesn’t object, still doesn’t twitch, still doesn’t cry.  Her dead, fixed gaze doesn’t flicker from Stevie’s face.

_—Please, please don’t let it count—_

Stevie screams.

 


End file.
